


Warm-Ups

by Nononlnkink



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Bad Poetry, Chapters have all the information, Multi, Poetry, Ratings may change based on chapter, but nothing too explicit, lots of death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-24
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-19 17:17:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 15,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9452000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nononlnkink/pseuds/Nononlnkink
Summary: Collection of warm-ups. Pairings, family, etc and more! Most have no plot and average about 500-ish words.Chapter summaries have infomation about fill. Any connected pieces will be linked as I go.





	1. Falling For You (Literally)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He really...FELL for you. (Nudge, nudge. I'm so funny.)   
> Human!AU with the twins as kitty-cats.
> 
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Sunstreaker  
> Relationships: Pre-Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None

There was that ridiculous cat again. Everyday, like clockwork, the little beast would begin to screech like it was being torn limb from limb. Prowl glared out the window and waited until the banshee cries died down. He tapped his foot, waiting a few more minutes in case the devil was going to start up again. There was no sound except the faint thrumming of music from his upstairs neighbor. With a resigned sigh, Prowl turned back to his computer to finish responding to his brothers’ email. It was the usual cheerful thing, asking how he was doing, if he enjoyed the city, how many bad guys he arrested. Blue must have managed to wrestle control of the keyboard because the rest of the email was rambling babble about everything and nothing. The last sentence was a promise to stay safe and an enlarged ‘x’ and ‘o’. Prowl tried to ignore the homesickness that crept up occasionally, but reading about his brothers and their lives back home brought it on.

Just as Prowl finished typing out his reply, there was another unearthly howl from the balcony. Prowl leapt from his chair in surprise, knocking it back with a thunk. He rushed to the sliding glass door and whipped it open.

“Hey! Mind giving me a hand here?”

Prowl stared at the sight before him. His neighbor from upstairs, a dark skinned man with a cheeky grin, was dangling from the balcony above. The devil-cat was sitting next to one of the man’s hands and was currently engaged in bathing itself.

“A little help, please?”

Prowl reached up to steer the man back over to safety and stepped back to let him land on Prowl’s balcony. The man gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that, man. When Sunny screeched I had thought he’d fallen off the end and the other rascal was practically tearing through the door to get to him. I, uh, misjudged the distance and nearly fell right off myself.”

“As long as you are not injured,” Prowl responded with one eyebrow raised. This man was interesting. Risking himself to save a cat? Peculiar.

“Oh right! I’m Jazz. I live above you.”

“Prowl.” He took the offered hand and was surprised at the friendly squeeze. Prowl nearly fell over when he was pulled closer to the taller man and swept into a hug.

He was released and allowed to back up. “Thanks, Prowl. I really owe you one.”

Prowl waved it off, still a little shaky from the unexpected contact, and led his ‘guest’ inside. Jazz wasn’t abashed about looking the little place over. He even stopped to pat the cushion of Prowl’s couch. “Oh, nice.” Jazz, once satisfied with the bounciness of the couch, followed Prowl into the kitchen and to the front door. He spun around to face Prowl and beamed. “You know, how about you come over for dinner tomorrow? As a thank you.”

“That really isn’t necessary-”

“Sure it is! Besides, the cats would love have some new attention.”

Oh. Yes, the little devils that made the little time at home a torture. But Prowl couldn’t refuse, not with the thousand megawatt smile turned on him. “Very well.”

Jazz opened the door and stepped into the hallway. “Great! It’s a date!”

Prowl watched, shocked once more, as his neighbor skipped down the hall and blew him a kiss before rounding the corner. What...what exactly had just happened?


	2. The Lesser Know Title of Matchmaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was a gambler, sure, but he also dabbled in matchmaking.
> 
> Characters: Smokescreen, Seaspray, Mirage, Hound  
> Relationships: Implied Hound/Mirage  
> Warnings: None

There was the usual grumbling and sighs from the assembled crowd. It was just how the game worked. Some lost, some won, and he raked in some extra rations. Smokescreen beamed. Not even some high-grade could make him feel this good. He cheerily pulled all the remaining collateral towards himself. Oh, was that a cube of Sideswipe’s latest mix?  _ And  _ a box of some of Prowl’s favorite energon gels! That might help keep Prowl from breaking up another ‘meeting’. A thud wrenched the Praxian’s attention from his ill-gotten gains. 

There was a very unhappy looking Mirage glaring at the table. 

“Hey, Mirage. You here to cough up some shanix?”

The spy rolled his eyes, but Smokescreen got a notification that his account just received a welcome addition. The spy got a grin. “Wonderful doing business with you!”

There was a laugh from Seaspray. He was juggling a few energon cubes that nearly spilled all over Smokescreen’s table when he set them down. Smokescreen snatched them and put them in his subspace while Seaspray turned to regard Mirage with a smile. “You should know better to bet against the master gambler. If he says Hound is into you, then the mech is into you.”

Mirage waved a hand at the empty space where Seaspray’s energon had been. “That is some advice I believe you should have taken yourself.”

“How was I supposed to know that Percy had a conjunx endura!”

“He shuts himself in his quarters at least once a metacycle to talk to him.”

“Well,” Seaspray huffed, “you’d know since you’re a spy that knows practically everything about everyone on this ship.”

Mirage shrugged. He gave one last glare towards Smokescreen before he stalked across the rec room to join Hound at a table. Hound’s face lit up when the spy came near. Seaspray threw himself down next to Smokescreen and smiled at the couple. “Playing matchmaker now?”

“I’m running out of ideas.” Smokescreen laughed. “Besides, how many times can I get one of these idiots to try and shoot Screamer in the aft?”

Seaspray chuckled and leaned forward against the table. “I guess you’re right. Prowl’d have your helm for that.” No need to take bets on that. Prowl would kill him-slowly and with prejudice. Or at least assign him to monitor duty for the rest of his lifespan. 


	3. Communication Shortage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All he wanted was a drink, not a relationship crisis.
> 
> Characters: Ratchet, Wheeljack, Jazz, Prowl  
> Relationships: Wheeljack/Ratchet   
> Warnings: None

Ratchet stared at his office. Everything was neat, orderly, and nothing was out of place-well, except for one cabinet behind his desk. The door was hanging by a hinge and the contents were gone. All of his meticulously kept high-grade had been whisked away. He had his suspicions on who had taken it. His bondmate had good intentions, sure, but Ratchet sometimes  _ needed _ to drown his emotions. He’d even be the first to admit that this was a stupid way to do it, but it was the easy and effective. High-grade always worked quickly and if he sometimes couldn’t remember his own name, then it was a small price to pay for the moment of peace.

Maybe that was why Wheeljack had taken it. As much as they cared for each other, Ratchet had trouble opening up to the inventor. Wheeljack could bounce around and talk about his day and his new projects with a barely contained enthusiasm that Ratchet envied. Try as he might, Wheeljack’s wistful desire listen to the medic’s problems was loud and clear in their bond. Ratchet had once catch him in the rec room talking to Jazz. The normally cheery mech had his face in his hands and Jazz had been patting his back with a sympathetic half-smile. They had stopped talking when Ratchet had walked past- after planting a quick kiss to Wheeljack’s helm of course- and resumed once they thought he was out of earshot. 

The two had met up in the rec room since then. Prowl sometimes would join them, but otherwise it was a strictly two people party. Ratchet would come near and the conversation would be forced into a lull, he move away and the whispers would start up again. It tore at the medic’s spark. Was he pushing his bondmate away? Maybe he had done something wrong by not being as excited about a particular project or discovery? Had he missed something important? Ratchet hated that he couldn’t disprove any of those questions.

But now that Wheeljack had snuck into his office and stole his high-grade...maybe this could be the opening that he needed. So, without waiting for any lingering doubts to grab ahold, Ratchet spun on his heel and marched out of the medbay. It was a few short meters to Wheeljack’s lab and the doors swished open with a happy welcoming jingle. The door was coded to respond to a few individuals like that. For Optimus Prime it was some ridiculous human commercial slogan that went along the line of loving something, Prowl had the Star Wars “Imperial March”, Jazz’s was a cat meowing, and there were multiple others. For Ratchet, it was a crystal chime- something similar to one that they had been given by a long-deceased friend after their bonding. 

Lo and behold, Wheeljack was just putting away the last pink energon cube in a locker labeled “Radioactive Chemicals”.  _ How ironic _ . At the musical chime, the inventor looked over and beamed at his bondmate. He slammed the door shut and hurried over to give Ratchet a quick embrace. 

“Ratch! You finally decided to visit me?” The inventor’s fins flickered between amused green and happy orange. 

Ratchet shrugged. “Sure. Although I’m pretty sure you know that I’d like my high-grade back.”

“Nope,” Wheeljack hummed. He grabbed his bonded’s arm and dragged him over to a semi-clean corner of the lab. He pushed Ratchet into a chair and sat next to him. “How about we chat and break it out later? Like a date night!”

“Wheeljack-”

“Too late! It’s already decided!”


	4. Separation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wonderful, fragile bond.
> 
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Ensemble/Others  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None

They retrieved them in a mission that was disturbingly easy. They found Prowl first. Jazz, however, took some searching to find. At first, all had assumed he was dead. But now, with him sitting pressed against Prowl, all the troops could see that while he may alive, he certainly looked like he wished he was dead. Jazz had been the target of a few rescue missions and had come back looking like he was a walking, talking scrap heap before, but this was different. He was physical sound as Ratchet had declared earlier. The same could not be said for his mental health.

Prowl was staring at nothing, one hand occasionally straying over to lay on Jazz’s shoulders as if to check he was still there. They had been separated, which was cruel enough considering those two were connected at the hip, but even worse when reminded that the two officers had just bonded. No one knew when they had bonded, but it was obvious that it had been pretty recently. Before being captured, Prowl and Jazz were always touching or making eye contact or smiling at nothing. Jazz had managed to convince Prowl that is was acceptable to hold hands in public and Prowl had cracked some jokes while getting a ration one orn. It hadn’t taken anyone too long before the mystery was solved.

Now - no one was sure what was going to happen. An early bond is a fragile thing, easy to snap and so much more difficult to repair. Was being kept apart enough to break it? Had something happened that had hurt it? There were a few theories, but no one would vocalize them. Sometimes the terrible things one thought up were too much when spoken aloud. Instead, they left the two black and whites alone and watched in sorrow from the sidelines.

Prowl’s hand had been caught in its last wandering and was now tightly held in one of Jazz’s. The two seemed to curl into each other at the returned contact.


	5. Brother's Dissociation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bluestreak was starting to scare him.
> 
> Characters: Bluestreak, Prowl, Smokescreen  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Mental Illnesses (dissociation)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason, I've been in a really bad head-space lately and I just can't seem to sit down and get some actual work done. Some of the next little fics I upload might reflect that so I apologize. I promise I'll get out of this funk and get back to normal (with my fics as well) soon as possible.

Bluestreak was shaking, mouth moving a mile a minute. Prowl felt helpless in the face of watching his brother pace back and forth, hands wringing, and optics unfocused. Usually Smokescreen was home to deal with the attacks, but with the eldest gone, it fell to the youngest of the three to try and get Blue back to the present. Prowl felt himself tremble even at the thought of approaching him.

If their carrier was still here then Prowl could have run to get him, but he was gone. He was the reason that Bluestreak was like this. Smokescreen would snap and snarl about their carrier, make threats against him, and sometimes his rage would be enough to keep their sire away from them for the day. But Blue didn’t blame him and Prowl hadn’t been old enough when it happened. Prowl wished he had been able to know his carrier longer than just when he was a sparkling.

That always left their sire, but there was no way Prowl would purposefully catch his attention. It was Prowl’s responsibility to get Blue out of...whatever that made him have a hyperactive fit.

With his little doorwings twitching nervously, Prowl approached Bluestreak with his hands palm up like Smokescreen always did. Blue barely gave him a glance, only changed his path to avoid colliding with the tiny mech. Prowl tried to keep pace with his brother and catch his attention. 

“Blue?” Prowl tripped on the couch and thumped against the flooring. He stifled a whimper. The commotion did nothing to gain Bluestreak’s attention.

“Blue, please.” Prowl snatched at Blue’s hand and managed to get him to halt in his obsessive pacing. He continued to stare straight ahead, babble spilling from his lips. “Blue, you’re scaring me. Please stop.”

Prowl could feel tiny pricks of heat behind his optics and yanked on his brother’s hand desperately. “Blue!”

A slam from the entry room startled both of them. Bluestreak jerked back and Prowl tumbled after him, only staying on his pedes thanks to his grip on Blue’s hand. A voice yelled over the sound of a mech fighting to shut the door. “Hey Blue, Prowlie! I’m home!”

“Smokey!” Prowl let go of Blue’s hand and his brother immediately began his pacing. Prowl skidded on the titling of the hallway and nearly crashed into his eldest brother who had his arms full of datapads. “I couldn’t to you on your comm. and I didn’t want to try Sire, but don’t know what to do-”

“Slow down, kiddo. What’re you talking about?”

“Blue’s in the living room and I can’t get his attention-”

Smokescreen immediately dashed past him. Prowl followed him just in time to snatch a datapad from smashing against the floor. He peeked into the living room to watch as Smokescreen dumped his armful of devices onto the couch and grab onto Bluestreak’s arms. He crouched down to be optic to optic and began whispering to him. Prowl came up and held onto Blue’s arm, tears starting to drip down his face. He was terrified. What if he had made it  _ worse _ ?

“Hey Blue, it’s me Smokey. Can you hear me?”

Blue’s optics managed to focus on him although they were still much too bright. “Hi.”

“Heya,” Smokescreen smiled, “think you want to some back to us?”

“Come back?”

“Yeah. You’ve got Prowl scared.”

A little bit of blue crept back into Bluestreak’s optics. “I didn’t mean to.”

“We know, don’t worry. It’s alright, see?”

“Right. All okay.”

Smokescreen’s smile widened when the last of the coloring returned to Bluestreak’s optics. Blue blinked and looked down at his sniffling brother. “Oh, Prowlie. I’m sorry.”

Prowl threw his arms around his brother and sniffled. 


	6. Family Discord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The argument escalates.
> 
> Characters: Prowl, Smokescreen, Bluestreak, OC  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Abuse
> 
> Connected to "Brother's Dissociation"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might make these their own little thing. Any thoughts on that?

Energon dripped from his chin. Prowl kept one hand up to try and avoid getting the bright liquid on the floor, but otherwise he barely reacted even as the scene before him escalated. Smokescreen was yelling at their sire, only held back by a horrified Bluestreak. Something Smokescreen snarled made their sire tighten his grip on Prowl’s arm. The painful pressure made the little mech cry out. That brought everyone to a stand still. Bluestreak was looking at him with evident concern. Smokescreen had snapped his mouth shut and was glaring between Blue and their sire. Bluestreak held up a hand at his brother’s vicious look and stared pleadingly at their sire.

“Swift, let Prowl go. He’s too young for an operation like that.”

“Too young?” Smokescreen snarled, “Not even fully upgraded mechs had a good chance surviving it!”

Prowl stared at his pedes. The three adults seemed to fight about him a lot. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like seeing Blue and Smokey so upset. He didn’t like- _ hated _ getting hit. He  _ hated _ his sire. His sire wouldn’t help Bluestreak when he was having a fit, he didn’t help Smokescreen take care of them, he blamed Prowl for Softshadow’s death. 

“Why would you even entertain the idea of forcing a sparkling to be fitted with a battle computer? We’re in Praxus! We aren’t even fighting! We’re neutral! We don’t need soldiers!” Prowl wanted to grumble at being called a sparkling, but his vocals refused to work. 

Swift glared at his creations, but didn’t release his youngest. “That war is going to be at our doorstep one way or another. What use will a student and a mentally ill have in it? This one,” Swift shook Prowl and made energon spill from his cupped hands, “he could be useful.”

Smokescreen was shaking with rage. Bluestreak looked as if he had been slapped. Swift spun on his heel and began to drag Prowl out of the living room. He whimpered when his sire’s grip began to crush the much more delicate metal of his wrist. “Sire, you’re hurting me.”Swift didn’t glance down at him. Prowl abandoned his attempts at keeping the energon from his nose and tried to pull his sire’s hand off. “Sire!”

There was the sound of something smashing behind them and Bluestreak shot out to block them. “You’re only doing this because of Carrier. You miss him, Smokey and I do too. But why take it out on  _ his  _ last sparkling?”

“Softshadow-”

“Would not approve of you hurting Prowl!”

“He isn’t here to tell me what he’d approve of or not. Bluestreak, move out of the way. They’re expecting us at the clinic in less than three joors.”

“Please, sire. Don’t take him. We can move out. Then you won’t have to deal with us ever again. No more seeing us or having to live with us. No more of my fits to deal with.  _ Please _ .”

The offer seemed to tempt Swift since he finally made optic contact with Blue. He appeared to consider it before scowling and shoving past his creation. Blue latched onto Prowl and furiously yanked at the hand denting the youngling’s wrist plating. Smokescreen hurried into the room at the commotion. Whatever he had done to calm down went out the window at the sight of his younger brothers desperately trying to get away from their sire. He marched over and socked Swift in the jaw. Swift flinched back, releasing Prowl as he did so. When he turned back to face a snarling Smokescreen, his expression was a blind anger. 

“How dare you-” Smokescreen was cut off as Swift slapped him. Smokescreen stumbled away and held up a hand to his faceplates. 

“Smokescreen,” Bluestreak yelped. He let go of Prowl’s hand and moved next to his older brother. Prowl watched on in shock. Smokescreen pushed Blue away and lunged at their creator. Blue and Prowl both stepped forward as if they could help. 

Swift brought Smokescreen to his knees and kicked him away. Blue scrambled to check him over, terror making his optics light. Swift wasted no time in taking ahold of Prowl’s wrist and marching out of the apartment. The door slammed shut behind them. Prowl’s wings trembled and he unsuccessfully tried to keep from sobbing. 


	7. Skiplight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello baby! What are you getting up to?
> 
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, OC  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: Sparkling fluff

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got put in nursery duty and the kids just always make my day. Of course, I thought of my two favorite tranformers with their own little one and ta da.

Soft clicking from under his desk drew Prowl’s attention away from his work. Peering out at him were two small blue optics, bright and happy. Prowl smiled at the sparkling. “Why, Light, how did you get down there?” Skiplight crawled out of the dark space and held his tiny hands up to his carrier. Prowl picked up the gray sparkling and carefully arranged him in his lap. Skiplight immediately grabbed a datapad and stuck it in his mouth. 

The door swished open as Jazz walked through just in time to see Prowl struggling to get the report out of their creation’s mouth. He set an energon cube on Prowl’s desk and leaned over to tap Skiplight’s nose. “Whatcha got there, spark?” Sparklight spit out the datapad to giggle at his sire. 

Prowl shifted the giggly sparkling so that he was out of reach of any other datapads, and scooped up the energon cube. “He’s been quite adventurous today. He somehow managed to throw his toy up onto the top shelf and tried to climb up to retrieve it. I was worried he was going to fall.”

“Heh, yer protocols nearly knocked me out of my chair earlier. I was terrified that something had happened to make you open the bond so much. Must have just been little Light here gettin’ into trouble.”

“Ah,” Prowl’s wings dipped sheepishly, “I apologize.”

“Nothin’ to be apologizin’ for, love.” Jazz leaned over to place a quick kiss against his bonded’s lips. “You want me to take ‘im for a bit?”

Prowl immediately tightened his grip on Skiplight. The sparkling let out a squeak and squirmed to try and escape his carrier. Jazz held up his hands in a placating gesture. Sometimes the Praxian’s carrier protocols could skyrocket into over-protective mode with no warning. Smokescreen had claimed it was because of how precious and important sparklings are to Praxians. Very few were allowed to be around Skiplight without setting Prowl off. Optimus, Elita One, Ratchet, and occasionally- _ occasionally _ -Red Alert. Jazz, Smokescreen, and Bluestreak were family so the protocols allowed them near without much fuss, but it was still a struggle to get the first-time carrier to hand over his precious sparkling. 

“C’mon Prowler. Smokey and Blue have been dying to see him. I won’t let Blaster or Ironhide try to do that human airplane thing with him again, I swear.” Jazz allowed his visor to snap out of the way so he could do his best puppy-dog eyes. Prowl glared at him before rolling his optics with a sigh. Skiplight was set on the floor. He made a wobbly dash straight into his sire’s legs. Jazz hefted him up and tickled his belly-much to Skiplight’s delight. He shrieked happily and kicked his little legs in glee. 

Prowl watched them with a critical optic for a good few kliks before his protocols deemed it safe for Skiplight. He turned his attention to his work, now uninterrupted, and began to read through the scouting mission report that Skiplight had been mouthing. Jazz and the still squealing sparkling left him to work in relative peace. 

Until Prowl suddenly sat up straight as his protocols roared to life. Skiplight was projecting glee through their bond, but Jazz’s was more mischievous. Prowl shoved his chair back and raced out of his office to trace down his wayward mate and sparkling. He barraged into the rec room in a carrier-fueled fury.

_ “Jazz, I said no more airplanes!”  _


	8. Dinner Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The kitties enjoy interrupting.
> 
> Previous: Falling for You (Literally)  
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None

Prowl was wishing he had stayed down in his own apartment for the hundredth time. He was waiting outside Jazz’s door, foot bouncing up and down with his nervous energy. Prowl checked to make sure his crisp black shirt hadn’t gotten any dust since the last time he checked, then to make sure his jeans hadn’t suddenly ripped, and finally to double check that his shoes were tied correctly. Everything was fine, just like it had been twenty seconds ago. Prowl went to check his phone in an effort to distract himself, but the door whipped open and he had to stagger back to avoid getting clocked in the face.

A red-furred cat streaked out and immediately went for his leg. It peered up at him, as if judging him. Another cat, this time the same one that had lead to Jazz’s tumble over the balcony, joined him. The red one might have been judging him, but this yellow furball most certainly was. The three of them had a staring contest until Jazz poked his head out into the hallway with a scowl on his face.

“Sunny, Sides, you two are in some much-oh, hey Prowl! You’re right on time!” Jazz opened the door more and gently herded his wayward demons into the apartment. He gave Prowl a brilliant smile and stepped aside to let him in. Prowl smiled in thanks.

Jazz’s apartment wasn’t much different from his own. A small living room that connected to the kitchen and a hallway that would lead to the bathroom, the main bedroom, and a guest room - which Prowl used as his office. Jazz wasted no time in hustling Prowl into the kitchen and pulled out a chair for him at a small wooden table. Prowl protested, wanting to help, but Jazz just laughed and gave a firm no.

While Jazz dug through his refrigerator, he managed to keep up a constant chatter. “I see ya met Sunstreaker and Sideswipe. Those rascals. I can’t keep them inside no matter what I do. They act more like nuisances than cats, that’s for sure. They’re twins so I always assumed that they egg each other on and that’s why every time I walk into the living room they’re fighting.”

“They must keep you on your toes.”

“Absolutely,” Jazz’s laugh was muffled by the fridge, “Sideswipe is always getting into the fridge and Sunstreaker steals my socks.” Jazz leaned back, proudly presenting a pitcher of lemonade. He set it on the table then whipped out a pan of lasagna from the oven. He put it next to the pitcher. Jazz threw himself into the only other chair, sitting across from Prowl and smiled at him. “Ready to eat?”

Prowl couldn’t help but laugh. Jazz was endearingly eager. “Always.”

Jazz opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by two angry shrieks. Prowl glanced behind him to see Sunstreaker and Sideswipe both glaring at him. _How the hell do cats glare?_


	9. Do Not Leave Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The injuries had been severe. (TFP)
> 
> Characters: Soundwave, Lazerbeak, Megatron, Breakdown  
> Relationships: Megatron/Soundwave  
> Warnings: None

Soundwave let the calming sensation of Lazerbeak softly humming wash over him. He had awoken in the Nemesis’ medbay with just his remaining symbiote at his side. There was a slight disappointment at waking without any other mechs around-without  _ him  _ in particular.  At the sudden two-way communication in the bond, Lazerbeak trilled and hopped over to rest on Soundwave’s chassis. She wanted to review that battle that he had been injured in. 

Soundwave simply raised one slender finger and tapped at her little helm. _ Not now. Safe? _ Lazerbeak chirped in the affirmative. She carefully nudged at the welding that was preventing her from docking before clicking at him again.

It took a moment for Soundwave to understand what she wanted.  _ Well. Will heal. _ The little bird didn’t seem all that pleased with his answer. She jumped off her host and found a new perch on an unused monitor off to the side. Soundwave swept his legs off the berth and gracefully rose to his pedes. Lazerbeak immediately flew back to him to settle herself on his shoulder. Soundwave ran a finger over a wing while absentmindedly making his way out of the medbay. Lazerbeak chirped and trilled over bits of information she’d gathered while he was being seen to and relayed over the files of the battle and an updated troop report. 

While he was engrossed in the information Lazerbeak was feeding him, Soundwave nearly ran straight into Breakdown. The massive Decepticon stared down at the communications officer in shock. “Did KO give you the all clear?” Soundwave merely stepped around him and continued on his way. Breakdown scowled after him, but let him be. No one really tried to get in the way of the silent TIC, not after what had happened with Airachnid. 

Soundwave stopped outside of Megatron’s quarters. He swiftly keyed in the code and the door slid open. The hulking silver warlord was sitting on his berth, helm in hands. He didn’t look up at the sound of the door. Lazerbeak chirped and took flight to circle over Megatron. She landed on a shelf above the berth and continued to worriedly chatter at him. Megatron reached up to pet her little helm. Soundwave sat next to the other mech and sent him an inquiring ping.

At first there was silence. 

“Do not leave me.”

Soundwave was startled at the whispered words. They were vulnerable and open with the warlord’s conflicted emotions. His field was much the same. Soundwave placed a hand on his arm and leaned forward to press his helm against Megatron’s shoulder. 

“ _ Do not leave me _ .” Megatron’s words were simply parroted back.  


	10. Letters and Notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye.
> 
> Character: Prowl  
> Relationships: Implied Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: Implied suicide

It was deciding the best note that made reality crash back down around him. Six datapads spread out across his desk, each one with similar messages.  _ I’m sorry, I love you, please don’t blame yourself. There was no other option.  _ At first he had tried humor, hoping it would ease the blow to the beloved reader. Rereading it through made him think that humor would make it worse. The second message was full of love and hope and encouragement.  _ You’ll be fine without me.  _ The third was empty of emotion, nothing more than a formal report. Something geared towards the co-workers he was leaving than the love of his life. The fourth was desperate.  _ I love you, please don’t do anything rash after this, I know it hurts and I’m sorry, this is all my fault, I should have seen it coming, I should have known!  _ The fifth was a list of what he would miss.  _ Chats well into the night, laughing at the ridiculous antics of his love, the thrill of chasing down a suspect, the pride of watching his brothers succeed,  _ his  _ smile.  _

It was hard to leave, but it was for the best.


	11. You Little Rascal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was always getting into messes.
> 
> Previous: Skiplight  
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Skiplight (OC)  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None

“Skiplight?”

There was a series of happy clicks then a giggle. Jazz made to move towards his sparkling’s hiding place, but stopped at the feel of amused-annoyed from Prowl’s side of the bond. 

Jazz grumbled to himself and sent back a twinge of frustration-panic. Okay, maybe not panic-panic. But sort of panic? Whatever, doesn't matter. Prowl’s laughing at him for losing their sparkling. :: _ Babe _ .::

:: _ Lost him again? _ ::

:: _ No! He’s in the room with me _ .::

:: _ Have you checked the shelves? He’s been a little terror climbing the ones in my office lately. _ ::

:: _ You think I haven’t? C’mon- _ :: There was a thud then a sniffle coming from just behind the rec room’s couch. Oh Primus.

:: _ Jazz! _ :: Prowl sounded like he was about to go on a rant, so Jazz let his side of the bond close slightly. Just enough to avoid getting distracted from the quiet sobs of their sparkling.

Skiplight was curled up in a ball, big optics collecting fluid. When Jazz rounded the corner and stooped to pick him up, the poor sparkling let out a hiccup. “Oh, poor baby. Did you take a fall?” There was a nod in response. “It sounded like it hurt.”

Skiplight flicked his tiny doorwings. They looked fine, but from what Prowl has said, a fall on the sensitive panels can make one go crazy with pain. :: _ I think he landed on his doorwings. _ ::

:: _ Do you want me to come? _ :: There was the slight edge to his mate’s voice. Carrier-coding ready to launch into action and wrap the bitlet up somewhere safe. The last time Prowl had been around when Skiplight had gotten hurt - it had been just a little trip - he had nearly taken someone’s head off. You don’t mess with a Praxian carrier or their sparkling. Jazz had been a little curious at why the coding didn’t latch on to him when they bonded, but maybe it was because of their frame differences? Right, right, try to stop the carrier from storming into the rec room and turning it into a warzone. 

:: _ Nah. I can handle ‘im. _ ::

:: _ You sure? _ ::

:: _ Prowler, seriously _ .::

:: _ I...I know you can. But- _ ::

:: _ No buts! Go finish yer paperwork or whatever _ .::

Skiplight had his head cocked, staring up at Jazz curiously. He could feel his carrier’s emotions through their own bond and all of them were directed at his sire. He chirped at the larger mech to gain his attention. Jazz smiled at Skiplight and let his visor retract with a soft  _ snick _ . The sparkling let out an excited bubbly noise, tiny hands reaching up to search for the visor. Jazz chuckled. 

“Feelin’ better, little spark?” A happy chirrup replied. “Ya mind tellin’ your carrier that? I can still feel him worrin’.” This time Skiplight was busy squishing Jazz’s face to pay any attention to his sire’s request. 

:: _ Prowl- _ ::

:: _ He’s fine. Whatever you are doing is making him incredibly happy. _ ::   


:: _ He’s playing with my face. _ ::

The only answer was the equivalent of a snort of amusement. Jazz let the sparkling be, however. If he was happy and Prowl was no longer about to go all ‘mama bear’ or whatever, then Jazz figured he could suffer through it. 

“Yer a little rascal, Skiplight, ya know that?” Jazz tilted his face to nuzzle the top of Skiplight’s helm. The sparkling suddenly looked serious and firmly tugged his face down further. Much to the black and white mech’s surprise, Skiplight bopped his nose against Jazz’s in an impression of the same playful action that Prowl would occasionally do. “Okay, fine. Yer an adorable little rascal.”


	12. I Have to Check Over This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earth to Prowl, this is Jazz speaking. Pre-Skiplight.
> 
> Previous: Little Rascal  
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Smokescreen  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been in the hospital the last day or two and had a ton of time to kill so here's the first of a few Skiplight-related bites. 
> 
> (I'm sorry I just love the little bitlet so much and I can't handle it)

“Don’t ya think that’s enough?”

He picked up the soft blue blanket and let it slid through his fingers. It looked like it would be warm enough. He carefully tucked it into the ever growing pile. 

“Babe. C’mon - is he really gonna need all’a this?”

Oh, this blanket was red. That would be nice. Blue and red, sire and carrier. It was placed next to the blue blanket. With careful fingers, he brushed some of the smaller toys brought in by their human companions out of the way. Too small, too fragile,  _ that _ would most likely getting eaten and choked on. 

“Yer scarin’ me a bit here.”

He chuckled at the small wrench he found. A gift from a certain medic perhaps. As long as it didn’t come with the marksman’s aim. 

“Smokey! I have no idea what’s gotten into ‘im. Please - oh.  _ Thank Primus _ . Just hurry, okay?”

He barely heard the swoosh of the door opening behind him. What was that? It looked dangerous. His engine gave an angry rumble at the thought. Nope, that needed to go. Into subspace it went. He’ll make sure it got back to Wheeljack with some stern words. 

“Hey, Jazz. What’s going on? Oh.  _ Oh _ .” There was laughter. 

“Don’t laugh about this, Smokey! I don’t know what ta do!” The laughter didn’t stop.

That was getting a little annoying. 

“Relax! He’s just making sure that everything is safe. It’s normal - I promise.”

“Are ya sure?”

He turned to look at the two talkers. With on optic ridge raised, he simply asked, “Will you stop worrying and help me? I have found three things from Wheeljack already and I do not trust them.”

“Oh thank Primus, babe. I thought ya’d gone of the deep end on me.”


	13. Mixed Feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not everyone is enthused about the Ark's newest member.
> 
> Previous: I've Got to Check This Over  
> Characters: Bluestreak, Smokescreen, Jazz, Prowl, Skiplight (OC), Ravage  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl, maybe secret Smokescreen/?  
> Warnings: None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my happy place. Writing stupid fluff about transformers and their made-up baby. I'm unsure as to how I got here, but woohoo.

Bluestreak watched as Smokescreen wiggled his fingers in front of the giggly sparkling. Okay, yeah sure, he was adorable. Bluestreak would readily admit that aloud. Skiplight was probably the cutest sparkling that he’s ever seen - okay, he was the _ only _ sparkling he’s ever seen, but that’s not the point here. The point is that the little menace was taking up so much of their family’s time. Prowl was a mess compared to his pre-carrying self, Jazz seemed to have Skiplight on his hip whenever he came to visit, and now Smokescreen was the favorite babysitter. Bluestreak hadn’t asked nor been asked to watch over Skiplight, so he assumed that Prowl knew of his conflicting emotions on the sparkling. 

The rec room had gone quiet while Bluestreak had been absorbed watching his brother and nephew. Someone else at the table nudged him with their elbow. Blue went to shoot them a glare, but froze when he saw a very ruffled looking Smokescreen and a just as ruffled Jazz standing together facing Prowl. The SIC’s doorwings were minutely trembling. Mad or panicked, one of the two. Blue bounced out of his seat to go see what the matter was. The mech who had elbowed him earlier hissed something along the lines of  _ what the frag are you thinking?  _

“Blue, you didn’t happen to see Skip toddle off did you?” Smokescreen had a manic pleading glisten to his optics. 

“Sorry, I don’t think so. I wasn’t really paying-” At a panicked glare from Jazz, Bluestreak shut his mouth. Right, worried carrier right in front of him. Say one thing wrong and bam! He’d be in the medbay - family or not. 

“Maybe he crawled out into the hallway?” Jazz weakly suggested. 

Prowl glared at his mate. “I highly doubt that or I would have seen him on my way.” The glare was turned to Smokescreen. “You said you only looked away for a klik?”

“I promise,” Smokescreen even raised one hand in the air, “the kiddo was with me then just gone the next.”

Prowl opened his mouth to growl something, but stiffened instead. He grabbed Jazz’s wrist, spun around, and fled the room. Everyone just watched with wide optics. 

“What the frag was that?”

Blue and Smokescreen darted after them. It wasn’t that hard to follow them, considering Jazz was trying to get his panicked mate to explain what was wrong. The two brothers skidded around a corner and found themselves nearly running into the bonded pair. There was the answer. Ravage, a frequent but unwelcomed visitor, had the sparkling at her paws. She wasn’t doing anything, just watching him. 

Skiplight was chirping to her as he ran his hands over her forelegs and then reached up to pat her head. The cybercat obliged him by lowering herself into his reach. That won a happy squeak and a hard pat on her snout. Ravage looked up to see the four Autobots staring at them. She flicked her tail and nudged Skiplight towards his creators. The sparkling pouted and tried to cling to her legs, but she stood up and sent the little mech reeling. Prowl lunged forward in time to scoop him up before the sparkling tumbled over. The glare Ravage received could have melted through her.

“We just wanted to see how the sparkling is doing.” Ravage stretched before retreating further away from the fuming carrier. “No harm to him. Carrier merely was curious.”

“You can tell Soundwave to frag off.” 

Ravage cocked her head. “I will inform him in a more polite manner. Also on the protectiveness of the sparkling’s carrier.” 

Jazz huffed from behind Prowl. “Soundwave is just as protective of you all.”

“That...is true. Interesting.” 

“Smokey, mind leading our guest on out?” Jazz ensured that Ravage wasn’t about to make a break for it under the Praxian’s watch. Prowl stood close to him, Skiplight babbling curiously in his arms. 

Bluestreak came up to pat the sparkling on the head. He chittered happily before tucking himself up against Prowl’s plating. Prowl smiled at the gibberish, but it was a weary thing. Blue gave a sympathetic chuckle. “Nap time?”

“For more than one of us.” Prowl’s wings drew back to settle out of their defensive position. Jazz lead his mate off along the hallway with one hand on his back. Bluestreak frowned as he watched them, but it didn’t last long. 

Was that a smile? Did Skiplight just smile at him?  _ Clever _ sparkling, trying to break down his walls with that ridiculously adorable look. 


	14. Sparklight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His initials were SL. Skiplight. Sparklight.
> 
> Previous: Mixed Feelings  
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Skiplight (OC)  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: Character Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO LEMME EXPLAIN OKAY
> 
> When I first came up with Skiplight, I wanted to name him Sparklight, but I was worried it would be confusing. So, what better way to introduce this little nugget? A DEATH FIC THAT'S WHAT. 
> 
> THIS IS BASICALLY AN AU OF THE SKIPLIGHT AU, HE IS ALIVE AND WELL.

It was spark-wrenching watching him huddle over the tiny fragile frame. The ever composed mech had screamed -  _ screamed  _ \- before gathering the body into his arms with choking sobs. Jazz had immediately flew to his side, hands up over his mouth and visor retracted in shock. He fell to his knees to draw the other into a trembling embrace. 

“Prowl-” 

“He can’t, no, please Primus. _ He can’t die _ .”

“Ratchet is comin’. He’ll make it."

The medic didn’t come fast enough. There was no way to save the sparkling, not after taking a stray plasma blast in the chest. His underdeveloped plating was little defence against it. In their grief, the two creators barely noticed being helped to the medbay. Prowl refused to release his grip on his sparkling, snarling at anyone who tried with tears still dripping from his optics. He cradled the grayed body tenderly, as if it would fall apart. He nuzzled the small chevron that used to match the color of his sire’s visor. 

“My Sparklight - my very being.”


	15. You Think He's Stubborn?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A video conference gets derailed by talk of everyone's conjunx.
> 
> Characters: Optimus Prime, Rodimus, Rewind, Chromedome, Ravage, Drift, Jazz, Prowl  
> Relationships: Optimus/Elita-1, Rodimus/Ultra Magnus, Rewind/Chromedome, Drift/Ratchet, Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: This is stupid and I have no regrets. (None)

It had started innocently enough. Optimus Prime had began to regularly inquire about the state of the _ Lost Light _ and Rodimus was more than happy to tell him all about their “adventures”. It was during one of these visits that Rodimus slumped down in his seat with his arms crossed and a grumpy expression.

On screen, Optimus sighed before going against his better judgement and asked, “Is there something bothering you, Rodimus?”

“Yeah, actually. I mean I don’t think it’s anything big - or at least I hope it isn’t because I didn’t mean to upset Mags that much.”

“You troubled your conjunx?”   


Rodimus threw his arms in the air. “All I asked was for him to leave his work alone and come spend time with me for a little bit.”

“Well,” Optimus began, only to trail off when some of the other crew members of the  _ Lost Light _ came in. “Didn’t you want this to be private?”

“Nah, the guys would probably heard about it from Ravage.” There was a muffled thump from the ceiling at Rodimus’ words. It wasn’t long before the cybercat slipped out of vent to sit at the back of the room to watch. 

The others immediately crowded around their co-captain. Drift gave the Prime a wave while Chromedome set Rewind on his shoulders to get a better view - “ _ So I can have a good recording! _ ”. Optimus nodded to each in turn before giving Rodimus an amused smile. Drift leaned up, hands on the back of his friend’s chair. “We heard Roddy complaining about his conjunx.”

“I mean Ultra Magnus is stubborn to a fault, but have you meet him?” Rewind tapped Chromedome’s head. “He gives me a spark attack almost every other orn!”

Drift laughed. “That may be true, but I don’t think anyone could ever be as stubborn as Ratchet.” 

“Ratchet has always been a steadfast individual.” Optimus agreed then frowned and leaned out of the screen view. 

The  _ Lost Light _ crew barely noticed, now much to involved in their surprising revealment of stubborn conjunx enduras. They had started to argue on who’s conjunx was the most stubborn when Optimus moving back into view caught Rodimus’ attention. 

“What do you think, Optimus? Does Elita drive you crazy?”

Optimus was silent for a moment before simply stating, “I do not believe I should necessarily reveal what she can drive me to.”

A voice from behind him began to laugh. “Good choice! She’d probably get her hands on this and hear all about it.”

Rodimus immediately leaned forward as if he could see more on Optimus’ side of the screen. “Jazz!”

A black and white face popped up next to Optimus. Jazz beamed. “Well if it isn’t my favorite insane adventurers!” There was a pause before he smirked. “And I think I’ve got you all beat.”

“Beat?” Everyone chorused. Optimus rolled his optics and sighed.

“One hundred and seven percent.” Jazz leaned back and yelled, “Hey babe!” An indistinct voice answered and said something that made Jazz laugh. “I know, I know, but get over here so I can show these kids up.”

A very familiar black and white mech stepped into view. Prowl raised an optic ridge at Jazz before leaning up to place a quick kiss on an audial horn. “You’re much too competitive.” 

“Yeah, but ya love me all the more.”

“True.” Prowl nodded in agreement before glancing up to see the Lost Lighters staring at him in shock. His gaze swiftly went from affectionate to icy. “Don’t you all have duties to be attending to?”

Rodimus blinked and shrugged. “Okay, yeah, see you Optimus.” He hurriedly turned off the screen, but not before everyone could hear Jazz’s exclamation of victory. 

Rewind tapped Chromedome’s head to get his attention. “Well,  _ frag _ . He  _ totally  _ wins.”


	16. Humans Are Gross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The largest human organ is their skin, ya know. Lemme touch you with it.
> 
> Characters: Cliffjumper, Spike Witwicky, Bumblebee  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: None

Cliffjumper watched as Bumblebee excitedly chatted to his human companion. Spike appeared incredibly interested in whatever the yellow minibot was saying, head in his hands and staring up at Bee in fascination. Cliffjumper snorted. Probably some wild tale of adventure from back on Cybertron. The humans seemed to devour any knowledge about Cybertron with as much curiosity as Hound with Earth’s fauna or Jazz and Blaster with Earth music. 

Bumblebee suddenly drooped and carefully set Spike down. The yellow minibot bid a quick farewell before hurrying off. Cliffjumper checked his chronometer and wasn't too surprised that it was time for a shift change. Bee would probably skip reporting to his position to stay and talk with Spike if he could get away with it. Most mechs, including Cliffjumper, would skip shifts if they could. Too bad the Ark’s resident security director and the SIC would each tear a chunk of their plating for the effort. Not worth it, not at all.

Spike seemed disappointed but brightened up when he saw Cliffjumper looking his way. The red minibot froze as the boy hurried over and gave him a thousand megawatt smile.

“Hey Cliff!”

“Spike.”

“Bumblebee was telling me about how you all grow up and stuff. I was curious ‘cuz of Skiplight. I just didn't imagine Cybertronians could be so small!”

“We don't just poof into existence, obviously.”

Spike frowned. “Well, I know that. I guess I’ve just never really given it much thought.” The frown transformed back into a smile. “Bee was telling me about the differences between your plating and protoform.”

“That’s cool.” No, it really wasn’t. 

“It’s cool how your plating is like part of you. I wish my clothes could just be part of me. Instead, I just get this.” Spike smacked one hand down on Cliff’s foot, nearly making the minibot jump. The boy suddenly smirked. “Do you know what a human’s largest organ is?”

Ew. No one wants to know. “Nope.”

Spike put both hands on Cliff’s pede and leaned up with a smile. “Our skin! That means I’m basically rubbing an organic organ on you.”

Cliffjumper immediately recoiled. Ew, ew, ew, he could have lived without that. He was just about to chase the boy off to go both someone else with his gross fact before an idea came to him. “That’s  _ disgusting _ . Let’s go tell Sunstreaker.”


	17. PB&J's and Corn Chips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too much peanut butter, Drift. (Humanformers)
> 
> Characters: Ratchet, Drift  
> Relationships: Ratchet/Drift  
> Warnings: None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is stupid but it was all I could think of after digging through my collection of prompts.

Drift watched as Ratchet busied himself with cleaning up the clinic’s front room. It had been a crazy day with two separate car accidents, some poor kid with a nasty case of hives, and a couple rushing in with a  _ baby on the way Primus dammit why the hell are you not at the hospital the clinic doesn’t have the equipment for this _ . Ratchet had been running around, barking orders and tending to patients. Drift had left later in the evening to run home and put together dinner. The small crew had already wearily trudged home by the time Drift had returned with a plastic bag full of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and some bags of chips. Nothing too exciting but when Ratchet saw it, his face lit up and he pecked Drift on the lips in gratitude. 

They spread everything out on the dingy desk in Ratchet’s office. Drift claimed the spinning office chair much to Ratchet’s amusement. The doctor had to pull up one of the seats from the lobby and wrestle it through the door. Drift only laughed at his husband’s struggles. 

“You know you could have helped me,” Ratchet huffed when the chair finally slid into the already cramped room. 

Drift shrugged, swallowed his mouthful of sandwich, and beamed at him. “I knew you had it.”

“Sure.” Ratchet immediately dug into a sandwich and nearly coughed it right back up. “How much peanut butter did you put on these?”

“Probably enough to glue your mouth shut.”

Drift earned a whack on the shoulder. He laughed. “Ah, c’mon you know you love me.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ratchet held up a chip, “more like I’d sell you to Unicron for a corn chip.”


	18. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited once again.
> 
> Previous: Family Discord  
> Characters: Smokescreen, Bluestreak, Prowl  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. JUST. LOVE. THEM.

Wherever Bluestreak went, Smokescreen followed. Wherever Smokescreen went, Bluestreak followed. That’s just how it was. You didn’t get one brother without the other. They were inseparable. The higher-ups tolerated it if only because Smokescreen was the only one who could bring Bluestreak back to reality if he began to drift. Besides, how can one argue with them if the eldest was a psychologist who had extensive research on Blue’s “fits”? They were a package deal. If there was a transfer and a psychologist was needed, Smokescreen would immediately volunteer. If a sniper was needed, Bluestreak would try to volunteer but his brother often beat him to the chase. If the other’s skills weren’t needed, they often would just get issued simple, but necessary tasks like delivering reports or organizing the supply lists.  It was rare that both of their skills were ever needed.

That’s why the transfer to Iacon was a miracle. They needed a good sniper, someone who could help train new troops, as well as a psychologist. Apparently the more well known shrinks were too busy traveling from base to base to stay on-call. Smokescreen had dragged his little brother off to a club to celebrate. This was the last large base they had yet to be stationed at. Small outposts to massive headquarters, they’d been almost everywhere. It was simple. Volunteer to transfer - something very few wanted since each base’s crew worked well together -and then scope out the new base’s troops. The Praxians specifically. There were few enough after the city’s utter annihilation so it was never a difficult task. Rinse, repeat. Over and over, each time ending in disappointment. Not once did they find the Praxian they were looking for. 

The chances of their particular missing mech working from Iacon wasn’t extremely likely - if he was even  _ alive  _ at this point. Smokescreen never voiced that thought aloud. Bluestreak didn’t need him to. But just because the numbers were tiny, that didn’t mean they weren’t going to try. At least they might be able to find something about his death in the archives. 

Bluestreak sat on the edge of his seat, fingers anxiously tapping out a random song that Smokescreen had been humming earlier. The transport was currently circling above the gleaming Iacon city and Bluestreak had never been so terrified in his life. This was it. Smokescreen had said that this was a permanent position. They wouldn’t be able to hop from base to base again. If they didn’t find him here then...they might never find him. Bluestreak didn’t want to admit that he thought that they would just be disappointed once more. Iacon was a big city, what were the chances that they could find  _ one  _ mech? 

Smokescreen jolted the young sniper out of his thoughts with a comforting arm around his shoulders. “Whatcha thinking about?”

“Do you think we’ll find him?”

“Maybe,” Smokescreen shrugged, “he didn’t extinguish during Praxus and he was an enforcer. I’m sure he’s alive even if not in Iacon.”

“I wish they would have told us more than ‘he joined the Autobots’.”

That earned a laugh. “You and me both, Blue. Anyway - better get ready. We just got clearance and our wonderful transport here is going to drop us off near the headquarters. Apparently we’ve got quite the welcoming party waiting for us.”

* * *

 

Prowl fought down the urge to tap his pede. The other members of the “welcoming committee” as Jazz had immediately dubbed it were giving him sidelong looks. Jazz had one arm wrapped around his waist and was squinting up at the sky. At least he knew better than to add to Prowl’s stress. First the unexpected promotion then this? 

Ratchet had commed him during the early twilight shift to inform him that two Praxian soldiers were being transferred here. Of course the medic had dug around enough to discover that these two new additions were - surprise! - his older brothers. His brothers he hadn’t seen since he was barely older than a sparkling. 

One doorwing twitched at the sound of a large transport nearing their position. Jazz moved so that he was out of touching distance. Prowl glanced over his shoulder to give him a questioning look. He just got a grin. Prowl sighed. It didn’t matter - Jazz had been making it publically obvious since they had started their relationship. It would only be a matter of time for his brothers to find out.

What did they look like? Had they changed? Had they forgotten him? Prowl almost had forgotten he had brothers. What if they hated him? Didn’t recognize him? Would they even care?   


The transport landed with the thud of rubber on metal. Prowl stepped forward to greet the transfers. He would have been here even if his brothers had not been among the new troops. He directed them to their respectful commanding officers that had stayed back. Prowl’s processor was immediately busy arguing with his logic center about the potential of one recruit that had streaked past him to stand in front of Jazz and stare at him in amazement. Not jealous, no, just needed to request the mech’s file to double check where he was to be placed. Special operations. Wonderful. 

Prowl was so focused on his task that he didn’t hear someone talking to him. He quickly shuttered his optics off and on to focus on the speaker. His doorwings immediately arched in shock.  _ Bluestreak _ . The gray sniper froze at the gesture. 

“My apologies,” Prowl managed.

Certainly older and in his final frame upgrade, but otherwise much as Prowl remembered. The black and white Praxian found himself at a loss for what to say.  _ Hello, I’m Prowl your brother. Do you remember me? _ Luckily, Jazz separated himself from the transfers and bounced over to rescue him. 

Jazz stuck out a hand and beamed. “You must be Bluestreak!”

“Yeah, that’s me. My brother is just over there, wait hold on.” Bluestreak waved over the crowd at a brilliantly color Praxian. As the other wove closer, Prowl realized his doorwings were minutely trembling. He unconsciously grabbed Jazz’s hand. The special ops mech gave it a comforting squeeze. “There! He’s coming.” 

Blue looked liked he was about to something else, when Smokescreen finally reached them. He only took one look at Prowl before Smokescreen was suddenly blubbering gibberish and had his arms around the black and white. Prowl froze at the contact. 

“Oh thank Primus, we thought you were dead, Bluestreak-oof!”

Smokescreen was cut off by the sniper pouncing on them and wrapping his arms around the other two. “Prowl!”

Prowl wiggled a pinched doorwing free before returning the embrace. “Smokescreen, Bluestreak. It has been awhile.”

“Awhile?! Prowlie, we haven’t seen you since-”

“Smokescreen, please, not now. You have places to be.” At the hurt expressions on his brothers’ faces, Prowl gave them a small smile and added, “But we can finish our reunion once you are all settled.”


	19. Your Turn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skiplight wakes up one night.
> 
> Previous: Sparklight  
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Skiplight (OC)  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None

Jazz nudged Prowl awake. The Praxian wearily onlined his optics and was greeted by the sight of his mate’s eyes. No visor. His thoughts were still muddled so the significance didn’t reach him. Then came a faint whimper from across the room. Prowl froze before rolling over to jump off the berth. Jazz let out a sleepy chuckle before falling back into recharge. 

Prowl quietly approached the small berth set across from their own and scooped its sole occupant into his arms. “Skiplight, what is wrong?”

The little sparkling hiccuped and buried his face against his carrier’s plating. The steady thrum of his spark made the little mech feel safe and he began to relax. Prowl hummed softly and slowly walked around the room until Skiplight’s whimpers and hiccups had been replaced with sleepy chirps and clicks.  

It didn’t take long after that for the sparkling to nod off. His little doorwings twitched while his systems smoothed out into barely a whisper. Prowl smiled and nuzzled his creation’s helm. He began to make his way through the dark to put Skiplight back in his berth, but a recharge-muffled grumble from Jazz got his attention. Prowl switched Skiplight so he was carefully cradled in one arm. He tapped Jazz on the shoulder but there was no response. Still out of it then. 

Prowl glanced at his berth then at Skiplight’s with a sigh. He arranged the pillows and small blanket so that Skiplight would be comfortable then set the sparkling down. Skiplight immediately curled up next to a pillow, systems making a happy purring noise. His carrier tucked the blanket around him.

The Praxian’s optics were barely lit by the time he was certain Skiplight was fine and had managed to stumble back to berth. He threw himself onto the comfortable surface, waking Jazz as he did. Jazz’s visor was still tucked away and the hazy look to his nearly white optics made Prowl smile. “It is your turn next.”

Jazz grumbled something then pulled Prowl close so they could both get back to recharge.


	20. Better Without Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would he be happy without me?
> 
> Characters: Rewind, Chromedome  
> Relationships: Chromedome/Rewind  
> Warnings: None

Rewind relaxed against his larger conjunx’s side. It was a comfortable position that allowed the minibot to lean back comfortably and replay scenes he’d recorded during the Lost Light’s venture. Chromedome was absentmindedly running his hands along Rewind’s arms, too focused on the fact that Rewind was there next to him and not... _ dead _ . Whatever the small ‘bot had gone through on the parallel Lost Light, it had been horrific. Losing his universe’s Rewind had been awful. Maybe it was the pain of losing their correct timeline partners that helped them stay close and never stray too far from each other’s sides. 

As if picking up on Chromedome’s thoughts, Rewind shifted the clips from the crew’s mischief to the couple themselves. Laughing and talking into the night, stray kisses when they thought no one was looking, cuddling in a booth at Swerves - only it was just Chromedome in the focus. Chromedome wasn’t sure whether he should smile or cry - was it him or the other Chromedome that Rewind had recorded?

On days that Chromedome wasn’t feeling so self conscious about his other self, there was still the matter of Dominus. Rewind may claim to love Chromedome, but how long would that last if faced between the two of them? 

Sometimes, when Rewind is recharging, Chromedome will hold him and imagine what it would be like if they had never met. Sometimes, Primus answered him.

Rewind happy with Dominus. Rewind and the other Chromedome laughing as they watched a vid together. Would Rewind truly be better without him from the very beginning? It was the last image that Chromedome received that solidified the idea in his mind.  _ Rewind alive _ .

Chromedome had to fight down the burning optic fluid that threatened to spill down his face. 


	21. Curious Troublemaker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skiplight drabbles.
> 
> Previous: Your Turn  
> Characters: Prowl, Jazz, Skiplight (OC)  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl   
> Warnings: None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've done little bits of this while working on Penetralia and lemme just say that after that mess I just wanted to indulge a bit.
> 
> Penetralia will be up either today or tomorrow depending on when my beta finishes.

Skiplight watched his creators with a curious glint to his optics. Both of his creators knew  _ that  _ look - Prowl had seen it too many times on Jazz’s face before the special ops mech did something stupid and Jazz knew it because everyone complained that the look never boded well for those in the ‘splash zone’. Of course, when did that stop him? Never. Not once. Prowl still grumbles about the last time Jazz thought it was a good idea to rig the Ark with a stereo system that had immediately made Red Alert panic. 

So when they saw it on their innocent little sparkling? Prowl threw his hands in the air and sat down on the couch with a long-suffering sigh. Jazz beamed at Skip and swept the bitlet into his arms. “And they said he’d turn out like you!”

* * *

 

“Hey Prime...what are ya doin’?”

“Ah, Ironhide. Wonderful timing. Would you mind assisting me in getting young Skiplight out from the vent?”

“Does Prowl or Jazz know?”

“They won’t have to if you help me quickly.”

When Prowl walked into Prime’s office a shift later, he found Optimus looking rather dusty and a very happy sparkling in his arms. 

* * *

 

Skiplight stretched and leant back against the wall. His creators were still in their meeting and he promised he’d wait for them, but he was  _ so  _ bored. What’s the point of getting your frame upgrades if you get stuck sitting around and waiting for some boring meeting? The youngling cast a glance down the hallway with a slight smirk. 

If he was fast enough and didn’t go too far, maybe he could get a quick drive in before his creators came out. His engine rumbled at the thought and without wasting any more time, Skiplight lunged down the hallway and transformed. His go-kart altmode may seem hilarious to the fully grown Autobots, but it was all Skip needed to find himself in trouble. 

Oh, Carrier is going to be  _ so  _ mad.


	22. Rewinding Footage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink attempts a poem about Chromedome and Rewind.
> 
> Characters: Rewind, Dominus Ambus, Chromedome  
> Relationships: Rewind/Dominus Ambus, Rewind/Chromedome  
> Warnings: None?

Press the button, 

Watch the film. 

_ Rewind rewind _

 

Broken body never found,

Lost in space for eternity.

_ Rewind rewind _

 

Lost the function, left alone

Saved by noble in TV screen.

_ Rewind rewind _

 

Warping film starts to burn,

Splits away and woven new.

Press the button,

Watch the film. 

 

Masked face, no smiled needed,

Love and safety carved upon his armor.

_ Rewind rewind _

 

Torn apart, ripped through,

Pink flooding where recorder hides.

_ Rewind rewind _

 

Silent screams of agony,

Watch as they murder him before the lens.

_ Rewind rewind _

 

Moving on from TV screens,

Lost in memory of tempted fates.

 

_ Burn the film _

 

Pulled away from surgery,

Thrust into broken podium.

 

_ Burn away the memory _


	23. Blue Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ink attempts poetry again.
> 
> Characters: Rewind, Chromedome, Nercobot  
> Relationships: Rewind/Chromedome, implied Rewind/Dominus Ambus  
> Warnings: None

Dance through flowers brilliant blue,

Ignore the fact they are souls. 

Take the hand of broken one,

Pull him laughing through the grass. 

 

Stand beneath tilted stone, 

whisper farewells to those known.

Listen to your broken love spill his woes

Underneath the statue of the lost. 

 

Ignore the hurt eyes of those around -

Taking in the land of death.

TV screens blink emptily

But he is not among them.

 

Drag your love through the fields

To find those forever lost.

Forget that the hand you hold is yours a second time.

Forget the pain of finding him again.

Focus on finding the lost spark that still beats for only  _ him _ .

 

He is not dead, the reaper said. 

You want to scream.

Where is he? Where is he?

 

The reaper smiles, a sorrowful thing.

He points to the one by your side.

Enveloped in an embrace, you shake.

 

He is gone, but he is here.

Heart torn between the two,

You know that you must choose.

 

It is with a lighter spark you smile

Through the tears.

Your broken one is here

And his broken one is near. 

Together, maybe you can be whole 

Once more.


	24. Knock Knock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knock knock! Who's there?
> 
> Characters: Tailgate, Cyclonus  
> Relationships: Tailgate/Cyclonus  
> Warnings: A horrible joke

Tailgate swung his legs back and forward as he sipped at whatever concoction Swerve had whipped up. It was a strange mix, that’s for sure. Whatever energon supplements and minerals he had dumped in made the swirling pink drink almost sickeningly sweet. Tailgate loved sweet things as much as the next mech, but there was just something about how the rust powder coated the top of your mouth. However, never one to give up, Tailgate had slowly worked his way through the energon.

He felt like he had been waiting for joors when it hadn’t even been a shift change yet. Ever the worrier, Tailgate had started to get nervous when there had been a lack of a tall, grumpy, purple mech in Swerve’s after such a long time - only for said mech to finally, _finally_ walk in with a scowl on his face and a bouncing helicopter following him.

“Cyclonus! And Whirl, I guess.”

“Heya, short stuff! Whatcha got there? Can I taste some?” Whirl had bolted towards the minibot the second he had opened his mouth. The terrifyingly hyperactive mech was bouncing on his heels as he attempted to lean against the counter, then Tailgate, before just giving up. “It’s really pink - fragger! Swerve! I told you that was a secret!” Tailgate felt like he should have gotten whiplash as Whirl immediately switched topics and hopped the counter to go and confront Swerve, still babbling about energon.

Cyclonus had managed to shove his way through the crowd and find an empty seat by Tailgate. The minibot was glaring at him. “Did you get Whirl overcharged?”

“No, I found him as such.”

“I think he might kill Swerve.”

“That would be doing Ultra Magnus a favor.”

Tailgate squirmed in his seat for a moment. Suddenly faced with his friend-roommate-whatever, he was regretting this. Cyclonus noticed and leaned down to search him over with critical optics. “Tailgate. What is the matter? If you are feeling overcharged, you should leave.”

“It’s not that!” _Pfft!_ Him? Overcharged? As if! ...Okay, maybe a little. “I have something really important to tell you.”

“And you thought a noisy, obnoxiously crowded bar was the place to tell me?”

“Yes?”

Cyclonus didn’t roll his optics. A miracle right there. Tailgate shuffled his chair closer and a bubbly warmth welled up in his spark when the purple mech didn’t move away.

“Okay, okay. Uh, ready?”

“Yes, Tailgate,” there was a long-suffering sigh included, but Tailgate was ready!

“Knock knock.”

Cyclonus recoiled. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. But much to Tailgate’s surprise, Cyclonus leaned back down and, while staring at him suspiciously, responded, “Who’s there?”

Tailgate clapped his hands in glee. “I didn’t think you knew the joke!”

“Rodimus has been instant on having me learn. Who’s there, Tailgate?”

“Olive!”

“Is that a human fruit?”

“I thought it was a vegetable,” Whirl suddenly shouted from across the room. How he managed to get over there and was practically hanging off of a very uncomfortable Perceptor was a mystery. How had he even heard them talking from there?

Tailgate grumbled, “It doesn’t matter! Just say ‘Olive who?’.”

“Olive who?”

“Olive you!” Tailgate beamed. Cyclonus was silent for a beat before confusion clouded his face. Tailgate began to panic. “That was a stupid joke. I’m sorry Cyclonus. I thought you’d get it, but I hadn’t even heard of it until Brainstorm said it and it must be a new one or something. I’m so sorry-”

“Olive you, too.”

It was quiet, almost lost in the room’s noise, but hearing it made Tailgate’s spark soar. _I love you, too._ He hoped Rewind had gotten that.

 


	25. Mind and Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why did they fall for each other?
> 
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, others  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this is a bit confusing let me know so I can fix that.
> 
> Also just a little note that I'm currently taking requests over on Tumblr if you are interested!

When asked why he had fallen for him, they always had assumed what he would say. A challenge or because he felt sorry for the other. One individual even suggested that it was because of he had a thing for authority.

But no. Nothing like that. What had gotten his attention was his laugh. It was a sound so pure and rare that he couldn't help but treasure it once he heard it. It had been an accident the first time he had gotten him to laugh and he's been trying to ease it out ever since. 

 

Some would ask him why he fell for the other. Most would simply comment on how lucky he was, managing to snare someone like him. How did you do it? They'd ask in wonder. He wouldn't respond, it was none of their business to be prying into his life.

What had drawn his attention was his mind. Chaotic and brilliant, pulling solutions from nothing and everything. So different from analyzing cold information and hard data. It simply amazed him.

 

  
When their bitlet would ask them, it was easy to smile at the young one and tell him that it was just meant to be. Neither of them would mind the bitlet’s lost expression. He was laughing and he had put his brilliance to work. 


	26. Movie Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like a night in.
> 
> Previous: Chapter 8 - Dinner Date  
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None!
> 
> For some reason, the James Bond 'Spectre' movie kept popping into my head so that's what they are watching haha.

Prowl paced through the living room, eyes sweeping the room for anything out of place. He had furiously cleaned his apartment for his date later that night. The process of cleaning was comforting and didn’t let him dwell on the fact that Jazz was coming over to watch some new movie he had been talking nonstop about. Now without any distractions, Prowl couldn’t help but be nervous. So far all of their dates had been at Jazz’s or somewhere public. Just last week Prowl had dragged Jazz out to a park for a picnic. Somehow that had led him to agreeing to watch this ridiculous movie at his own apartment and he was stressed over it.   
   
A knock on his door startled him out of his thoughts. With a quick brush off his shirt, Prowl hurried over and let his date in. Jazz immediately beamed at him and swept the smaller man into a crushing hug.  
   
“Hey lovely!”  
   
“Right back at you.” Prowl laughed as he was released. He stepped back so Jazz could fully enter then shut the door. Jazz made a beeline for kitchen, bag hanging from his arm clinking. Prowl followed him. He leaned against the wall while Jazz opened the fridge, frowned at how empty is was, and began to put the bag’s contents inside. “What do you have there?”  
   
“Some sandwiches and sparkling grape juice - since you don’t like wine.” Jazz sent a smile over his shoulder and Prowl rubbed at his face to hid the blush.   
   
“There was no need for you to go out of your way-”  
   
“You made some fantastic sandwiches last time so now I get to dazzle you with my own sandwich-making prowess.” Jazz huffed as he shut the fridge and stood up to put his hands on his hips. Prowl laughed and won another smile. Jazz crossed over to him and grabbed his hand to drag him back into the living room. He pushed Prowl down on the couch before going to fiddle with the television.   
   
Prowl settled into the leather seating and slid over to make room for Jazz when he threw himself down. Prowl reached over the arm of the couch to snatch the remote and switched the television on and skimmed through the various settings until he reached the movie. Jazz made an excited hum next to him as the menu popped up.   
   
Throughout the movie, Prowl couldn’t help but snort at this or that. It may have been a movie that sided towards the serious end, but the inaccuracies were amusing. Every time Prowl stifled a chuckle, Jazz would sneak a glance at him. Prowl didn’t notice the laughter reflected in his eyes. Jazz startled the other when he pointed out how the movie folks had completely messed up what a club really was like and Prowl was sent into a fit of laughter. Jazz beamed at his accomplishment and threw an arm around the smaller’s shoulders. Prowl leaned into his side and let out a content sigh.  
   
If they fell asleep as the ending credits rolled with matching smiles on their faces, there was no one around to see.


	27. Tectonics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look at the Autobot troops and why the blame lands on other individuals for any failures and troop deaths.
> 
> Characters: Autobot troops as whole  
> Relationships: None  
> Warnings: Possibly brush of PTSD and blaming another for situation out of their hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note that this is simply my take on what the troops are feeling - not necessarily my own opinion on such matters or anything as such.

The screams and snarls of battle never truly fade away. Sure, one might not think of the horror for a period of time but should a trigger set them off - the war was real and all surrounding. The flash of gunfire, acid scent of burnt fuel, spilled lifeblood, even the voices of their commanding officers and fellow soldiers could consume their waking life and unconscious dreams and not even drowning themselves in burning poisons could help.

The trauma of the battlefield was only compounded by the witnessing of loved ones dying. Ambushes, textbook attacks, sabotage, injuries, and suicide - the death never ended. Nothing one could do except scream for a medic and hope that pressure on the wound would earn the dying a spare seconds time. In their nightmares, the rumbling explosions and hiccup of gunfire were spaces between last gasping breaths and broken last words.

Was it truly any surprise that the soldiers would seek out a solid, tangible cause of their suffering and death?

_Emotionless._

_No pity, no empathy. No rhyme or reason of the dead._

_Treats us as pawns. Nothing more than stupid chess pieces._

_What are we - worthless?_

_Maybe we should send him out in our stead. See how he enjoys watching his troops die before him._

_An empty son of a bitch!_

_All we ever are to him are numbers. Not names - not lives. Cold, hard numbers._

_He killed them!_

_HE KILLED THEM!_

_How could he approve such a plan? How could he propose our deaths?_

_Tactical strategies are only good if they have a low mortality rate. And I mean like zero low._

How could soldiers attempt to understand their scapegoat's process and situation when encompassed by death and pain and suffering?


	28. Morning, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye.
> 
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, sparkling(?)  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: Character Death
> 
> Companion to next chapter (chapter 29): "Evening, Dear".

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was listening to "Goner" by twenty-one pilots while writing and cried throughout the whole thing. I would suggest maybe giving it a listen while reading.

The team was dead. Gone, just like that and all he had been able to do was watch the surging inferno engulf the mechs he had fought alongside and lived with for millennia, mechs he would have died for, mechs who were more like family then his own creators. It was a miracle that he had escaped the brunt of the blast with little more than charred, bubbled paint.

But his team - oh Primus, _his team_.

There would be no returning from the melted husks that he could barely make out through the lingering smoke. The mourning back at the base...he had to shake his head to rid himself of the saddening thought. Deaths were a natural part of war, but feeling the loses and watching others grieve would never be normal. The reports and notifications he’d have to file and send out to worried creators, enduras, creations-

He had to make it out alive first. It took a great deal of willpower to force himself to turn away from the forms of his team and begin the slow limp back to their designated extraction point. He had to make it - for his own loved ones and the mechs he was leaving behind.

How could the plan have turned so sour so quickly? It was suppose to be an old, abandoned ‘Con lab - not a lighted, humming with energy lair of Shockwave. There shouldn’t have been tripwires and viruses protecting the system. There shouldn’t have been a released drone programed to storm into the control room and detonate itself to protect information. Primus. It should have been so simply, a good first mission for the new ops agents.

A slaughter like this was not expected, not planned for. How could they have been so blind?

The rumbling of the lab’s structure sent loosened cement and metal crashing down from the ceiling and broke down weakened walls. If he didn’t move fast, he’d either get buried alive or trapped. It wasn’t far now, he just had to hurry. Damn his leg!

After another particularly strong tremor, he found himself facing a dead-end. The ceiling had collapsed through the floor, leaving nothing but a gaping hole much too large to jump. The opposite side was just out of the range of his grappling hook for him to be comfortable with winging. He had to double back. Nowhere else to go but back to the slaughter grounds.

He was too fragging slow! He wouldn’t make it for Primus’ sakes! If he could only drive, but triggering his alt-mode sent searing ripples of agony through his lines and if he pressed through the pain, he’d only be able to half-transform before jerking to a halt and being forced to return to root mode. He was going to be left to rot here with the remains of his team. Maybe that was poetic justice - the commander left to witness his agents burning alive then being forced to surrender to defeat and death in the presence of their corpses. It was hopeless.

He stopped just shy of the control room’s entrance, leaned back against the wall and let his frame slide limply to the floor. The gray bodies would only mock him - _look at your failure here, look at what you did to the young ones. How will their families react? How will your family react?_ He had failed so many…

There was a crackling noise over his comms. The signal that their transport had reached the extraction point. Soon they’d be trying to get to him, question him. _Where was he?  Where was his team? Dead. Dead dead dead dead dead dead-_

::Dear?::

No! Not him, not him, please Primus, not him - anyone but him. _Please!_

::Where are you? You have not appeared within the given timeframe.:: There was a pause before, ::Is everything alright? Has something happened?::

He did not respond to the sparkbond’s worry. He dropped his head into his hands and couldn’t help the sorrowful whine. His bonded was waiting for him - would be waiting forever for him.

::I can still feel your spark, so I know you can hear me. Please, where are you?:: The voice suddenly became increasingly panicked. ::Jazz?::

He checked his chronometer. It was early. Odd time to die - wasn’t it suppose to be peaceful? The lab shook around him and a large chunk of debris crushed the flooring mere finger lengths away. No, not peaceful. Not painless either.

::Jazz, please respond.::

The terror in his bonded’s voice hurt. Hurt more than the sight of his dead team, worse than his injuries, worse than the thought of telling his team’s loved ones. At the pure feeling coming from his bonded, there was another touch through the bond that shouldn’t have been able to be felt by him. A young spark reached out in confusion and fear.

What spiral would his death send his family down? As much as he wished to spare them his pain, he couldn’t ignore the young one’s worry.

::Morning, my loves.::

He could hear the humming of his family’s sparks as the building collapsed atop him. He didn’t have to hear the agonized scream of his bonded as the sparkbond snapped.

Strange, but it _was_ peaceful.


	29. Evening, Dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Farewell.
> 
> Characters: Prowl, Jazz  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: Character Death
> 
> Companion to previous chapter (chapter 28): "Morning, Love".

He was dying. The world was nothing more than static to his broken optics, his wings had been shorn off and replaced by agony that no torture could mimic, and the flickering light of his spark barely illuminated the walls of his soon to be resting place. There was no one around, just him and the wreckage of his aircraft. Never had he been so grateful for non sentient transport. He had been shot down over the barren, desolate landscape of the former wilds of Cybertron - now nothing more than another crater-ruined battlefield in a world composed of thousands of similar acres. If was hell for him, he could hardly compute how horrendous it would have been for a sentient flyer like Skyfire.

To his disappointment, the guttering of his spark did not appear to be in any hurry. He was going to die, yes, but slowly and in physical anguish. The small comfort that his situation provided, however, was enough to keep his mind from breaking apart in the face of his circumstances. His bonded, no matter how strong a sparkbond they shared, would most likely live on. The probability of his bonded being sent to the Well alongside him was tiny - his bonded was too strong in will and character and the simple desire to _live_. He didn’t run any calculations on how his bonded would likely be affected by his death, but he didn’t have to. It would be hard, nearly unbearably so, but his bonded was strong, amazingly strong.

He would miss him, but it was better for the Autobot cause if only one of them rejoined the Well this orn.

In an attempt to escape the pain, he tried to power down and recharge. The sudden ping of a report being sent to him startled him out of the darkening fog. _Annoying_. Seems that even while dying, his work was never done. A pulse of love engulfed him for a moment before a cheery voice came through the sparkbond.

::Evenin’, darlin’!::

::Evening, dear.:: It hurt when he smiled at the way his bonded perked at the endearment.

::When ya get back to Iacon, want to go on a little trip?::

::A trip? Where exactly?::

There was a pause as his bonded thought. ::Anywhere,:: there was a pause like his bonded had shrugged, ::OP’s been breathin’ down my neck about gettin’ ya out and about soon. Is there anywhere ya’d like to go?::

Praxus. ::There is no where in particular.::

::Someone said somethin’ about some locals tryin’ to start a crystal garden near the base.::

::That would be acceptable.:: He could easily see the stunning crystals that had made up the Helex Gardens in Praxus. If mechs truly wanted to grow crystals in Iacon, it would take multiple milleniums before they would reach such glory and magnificence. He should have his bonded donate the few Praxus-grown crystals he had.

His bonded began to cheerily chat away. He was more than willing to simply sit and listen as the warmth of his bonded’s voice drove away the pain and seemed to make his spark glow just a little brighter. It wouldn’t last, he knew that, but it was nice to pretend. As his bonded talked, he couldn’t help lowering the blocks that helped filter his pain and the simple fact that he was dying from his bonded. He only noticed when he bonded suddenly gasped and then it was too late.

::What’s wrong? Yer hurt!::

::There is nothing wrong, you worry too much.::

::Then why the frag does it feel like yer fresh outta the smelter then?::

::I promise there is no cause for alarm-::

::Yer leavin’.:: His bonded was always more observant of them. ::Why the frag didn’t you say somethin’? Where are ya? Maybe we could get someone to ya-::

::There is nothing to be done about my condition.::

::Ya were just lettin’ me talk and conversin’ with me like nothin’ was wrong! Ya should have told me!::

::And miss the last opportunity to have a simple conversation with you?::

::Ya should have told me.::

::Prowler?::

::Prowl?::

::Lover? Are ya still with me?::

::Please, please respond.::

::Talk to me, love. Anythin’. I don’t care if ya repeat old tactical reports or those silly mystery novels.::

:: _Don’t leave me!_ ::


	30. Droppin' In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Horrible pun here.]
> 
> Previous: Chapter 26 - Movie Night  
> Characters: Jazz, Prowl, Bluestreak  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: I wrote this at 4 a.m. Don't expect anything to make much sense.

Bluestreak had found a pretty comfortable spot on his brother’s couch. It was obviously new, considering it wasn’t hard and stiff like the rest of Prowl’s furniture. When Blue had innocently brought it up, Prowl had been avoidance and had disappeared into his room to finish getting ready for dinner. Blue smirked. His brother was so _obvious_. Their parents hadn’t been able to convince Prowl to try comfy furniture when they were younger and neither Blue nor Smokescreen would even attempt. So who else could have gotten the couch? Not a friend or co-worker. It was the work of the mysterious boyfriend that Prowl refused to introduce them to yet.

Smokescreen didn’t believe that this boyfriend existed, but it wasn’t like Prowl to lie about something like this. He even was perkier when they would visit - what else could it be? Blue was honestly excited that his brother had finally found someone that made him get that ridiculous smile that brightened up his whole demeanor. The fact that should Prowl’s boyfriend be real, Blue would be racking in a good few credits was, uh, _unimportant_.

Blue stretched and frowned. What was talking Prowl so long? It wasn’t like he had to make a difficult decision between ties - both were black. He groaned.

Then came a tap on the window behind Bluestreak that made him jump. He whipped around to peer over the couch back. Standing on Prowl’s balcony was a smiling man who looked just as surprised at seeing someone on the opposite side of the glass. Blue was frozen in place as the man dug in his pockets, took out a key, and unlocked the sliding doors. He pulled one open and poked his head in.

“Hey! Prowler hasn’t left yet, has he?”

Bluestreak scrambled back in alarm, falling off the couch and soundly colliding with the nearby coffee table. His sudden weight against the fragile surface shattered the glass. The man winced just as Blue did when the noise was immediately followed by a very unhappy growl from Prowl’s room.

“Jazz, you better have not broken that door again!” Prowl stepped out of his room, radiating fury. “I swear...” He trailed off at seeing his brother on the floor, surrounded by broken glass, and the sheepish intruder inching back toward the doors. 

Bluestreak decided that was a perfect moment to squeal, “This is Jazz?” Jazz took another step towards freedom as Prowl frowned.

“Ah, Bluestreak-”

“Blue, eh? You must be Prowler’s little brother!” Jazz’s wariness went out the window the moment Prowl sighed. “It’s so great to meet ya!”

“You too,” Bluestreak beamed. That’s three hundred to him. “I mean, this was kind of strange? Of course, it works! I just never would have thought I’d meet you like this! Smokescreen was honestly sure that you didn’t even exist. This is great! Prowl’s got himself a boyfriend! One that apparently breaks his back door occasionally.”

Prowl sighed, “Bluestreak, please.”

Blue went to protest - he’d just finally meet Jazz after all! He wanted to sit the man down and politely grill him. What did he do? How did they meet? Was there any dangerous history he should tell Prowl? Any criminal records? There were so many questions he had! Jazz interrupted him with a little wave.

“Prowler said that yer meetin’ with Smokescreen, right? I better not hold ya up.” He undid the blue tie he had on and walked over to Prowl to present it with a kiss. “Wear this one, it looks better than just black.”

Prowl blushed and protested, but there wasn’t really any heat in it. Bluestreak beamed at his brother - only making the poor man blush all the more - and if he had, uh, sneaked a picture of two then no one seemed to notice. If said hypothetical pictures somehow were sent to Smokescreen then that would just be strange!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm thinking of doing a thing were Prowl and Jazz's family are each introduced to their respective partner. Most of these ideas, should ya'll be interested, would involve the kitties again. (Incentive, eh eh?)


	31. Dear Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bluestreak sleeps.

The world was burning, crumbling down around him and all he could do was stand there. Whatever force had ruptured the roadways and devastated the buildings was keeping him in place. The horrified terror that engulfed his spark would have sent him to his knees otherwise. There were mecha running past him, screaming and sobbing, some calling out for loved ones. Some were falling over, turning gray at his pedes. The earth-rattling sounds of explosions would interrupt the chaos of a city being slaughtered.  _ Primus - why couldn’t he move? _

Bluestreak was startled out of recharge by his own screams.


	32. Introductions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Smokescreen, Prowl, Jazz, Blaster  
> Relationships: Jazz/Prowl  
> Warnings: None
> 
> Smokescreen comes to Iacon for a visit. Jazz can't wait to meet him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to get myself back towards writing TF fanfiction more often. We'll see how it goes...

It wasn’t too difficult to find Smokescreen in the transport center. His flashy paint job and wide wings drew everyone’s attention when he stepped off his transport. A Praxian was a rare sight in Iacon these days, after all. Smokescreen thrived on the attention, which ultimately worked in his brother’s favor. 

Prowl raised a hand to get his brother’s attention. Smokescreen saw him, spun around, and beamed. “Prowlie!” The next moment, Prowl was developed into a strut-crushing hug. He awkwardly patted Smokescreen’s arm.

“Good to see you. How was the trip?”

Smokescreen released him, holding his at arms length. “Fine! How’s Iacon? Heard you’re making a name for yourself among the enforcers here.”

“Mostly rumors, I’m afraid,” Prowl said with an amused flick of his wings. 

“Good publicity.” Smokescreen winked. “So, how do we get out of this crowded place?”

The two brothers weaved their way through the crowd of mechs all trying to get to their transports. They bumped into a couple by accident and apologized. Smokescreen held his luggage a little closer to his body. He earned an optic ridge from Prowl. In response, the blue Praxian shot a suspicious look at one of the mechs that they had run into. Prowl peered around his brother’s shoulder to see and immediately frowned.

“Are you serious,” Prowl muttered before yelling out, “Jazz! Get back here!”

The pair of mechs froze, the red and gold one turning around slowly while the black and white mech spun on his heel to face the enforcer. He waved, only for Prowl to offline his optics in annoyance. “Hey, good lookin’!”

“Jazz.”

“It’s real crazy we ran into each other here, huh! Oh, who’s this?” Jazz came over to peer at Smokescreen up close. “You must be Smokescreen!”

The blue Praxian glared at the smaller mech. Prowl rubbed between his optics. “Jazz, you would be so kind as to return whatever you stole from Smokescreen?”

“What makes ya think _I_ took somethin’?” 

The red and gold mech leaned forward to hiss, “Don’t ya dare involve me!”

Jazz shrugged, visor bright in amusement. “Was that a confession, Blaster?”

Prowl shifted his wings. Smokescreen alternated glaring between Jazz and Blaster. Jazz’s smile only seemed to grow wider.

“Jazz,” Prowl sighed, “you are making a terrible impression. Why is it so hard to just introduce yourself?”

Smokescreen’s mouth opened and closed a few times as Jazz chuckled. “That’s no fun, lover! Besides, we gotta head back to help set up for the concert tonight.” Prowl huffed when Jazz leaned over to steal a kiss before hurrying off with a wave. Blaster hurried after, looking rather unamused with the situation.

“He’ll return whatever it was soon,” Prowl simply said. He turned to continue making his way out of the transport station when Smokescreen grabbed his arm. 

At first, Prowl was worried he’d be put on the spot. Jazz’s theatrics usually ended with the monochrome Praxian in hot energon instead of the musician - much to someone’s annoyance. The look on Smokescreen’s face wasn’t at all what Prowl was expecting, however. A smirk had taken the place of his gaping jaw. 

“So a criminal is courting you?”

“Don’t say a word,” Prowl warned with a glare. Smokescreen laughed.

“What? I like him! Besides,” Smokescreen shuffled through his subspace for a klik before pulling out a small box. “I snatched this from his subspace. Want to open it?”

Prowl sighed. He’d fallen for that one more times than he’d be willing to admit to. “If you wish. I’ll be ahead.”

He didn’t get far before the telltale sound of paint splattering over something - or some _one_ echoed through the building. Prowl turned to look at his brother with an unimpressed expression. Smokescreen scowled. “That punk is dead.”

Prowl smirked. “Good luck with that.”

 


End file.
